I won't complain about the job, frankly it was the best job I've ever had in terms of job satisfaction, from cooking your own breakfast ("Triple Sausage McMuffin please!") to serving on the drive through after just having my trouser pulled down, to running Cannibal Corpse (Hammer Smashed Face) through the in store speaker system. Was ace!

However, as this is about customers from hell, i'll talk about a couple that I saw happen to others, and happen to myself.

-Chav elects to throw a milkshake at a 'member of staff'(clue in the '), covering the back of his head as he's backing out from the toilet with wet hands.
Turns out he wasn't a member of staff, but a bit of a hardman. The chav learnt that with a bloody nose, a black eye, and a full contingent of staff refusing to acknowledge they saw anything except for this lad throw the milkshake ("Maybe you slipped" quoth the manager)

- I'd spent half the evening tidying the lobby area, and was doing my final sweep in the 5 minutes before closing the restaurant. Group of kids has been in the corner for the last half hour throwing shit on the floor, and then denying it was them. Their mates then come in and 'accidentally' kick the pile of rubbish I've swept up. Twice.
At this point I'm gritting my teeth, trying not to rise to them, so I just laugh and say "Mind out twinkletoes, anyone would think that was intentional!"
At which point he turns, and spits in my face.
Within 30 seconds my manager had vaulted the counter to stop me from smacking this lad's head into the nearest table. He storms off with his mates, claiming "He'll get the police on us, he's connected" (To what?)
Police turn up, surprise surprise, no-one had seen a thing, it was our word against theirs. Considering they had a history already, they were then bollucked for wasting police time.

Last but not least, the store manager was a woman called Clare. She wasn't skinny, but was by no means fat at all. She was a great manager, but horrible to be told off by, because you always knew that she was right, and would never go over the top.
However, this changed one night. A bloke storms in, pushing the customers out of the way (including a pregnant woman with her family) and throws a Chicken sandwich into Clare's face. In the quarter of a second it took for everyone to fall silent across the restaurant, you could almost hear the mayo sizzling on her face, such was her anger.
There was another manager in the restaurant who had worked with her for 10 years, and says he's never seen her that angry.
Long story short, she grabs his tie, pulls his face over the counter, and smacks him square in the nose, with a nice crunch.
She then proceeds to bash his head into the counter a few times, before letting him fall to the floor, dragging him to the glass door, and throwing him THROUGH it. She then asks me to take over her till, and goes off to calm down, and have a little cry (adrenaline always mixed her up a bit).
She also phones her rugby playing husband, who turns up by the time the guy is able to stand up, and simply lays him over his shoulder, throws him into the boot of the car, and goes for a very bumpy ride, before dropping him off at the police station a little while later.
We never saw him again, but he was instructed by his PAROLE OFFICER to write a letter of apology to her, and never come our way again. It turned out he'd not been long out of prison for assault, he supposedly had an 'anger problem'.

However, the best bit of this entire story? The letter was addressed to "The Mental Bitch That Broke My Nose".

That was the day my Mum died, after fighting a losing battle with cancer for nearly 18 months.
That morning, My Dad had woken up to find the body, and had gone round waking us kids up one by one, eldest first, right down to myself, the youngest.

I howled, and I sobbed, and I begged that it couldn't be true. But it was.

My Dad took me through to see the body that was still lying in bed. She looked so peaceful, it was incredible. Considering this was the woman I'd had to hear coughing her lungs up every night for 18 months (when you're 8, that seems like the longest time in the world, almost beyond living memory) it was odd to see her finally relaxed.

We had seen the Chemotherapy ravage her body, making her seem even iller than she was, but up until the day she died, I never thought she would. I was 8, the woman was invincible to me!

When I saw her that relaxed, it made me worse, it was when I realised she'd never come back. My Dad gave me a little while to say my goodbyes alone, and I went to the bed and held her hand. As she had died at about 1am and this was 9am, her hands felt like ice. That is the most surreal thing in the world, to feel a hand you were used to being warmed by, with no heat left in it. It's frankly terrifying.

After 5 minutes sat crying, I realised. This was the longest I'd heard her go without coughing in almost a year. It finally clicked, my Dad was right. She was in a better place, not suffering anymore.

My parents were both strong christians, and so I suppose this was the only way they could face death. Makes me jealous really, I wish I could open up to the possibility of there being a God.

Epilogue -
It's been 11 years since that day.
My Dad remarried in 2004, now living happily with his new wife. (QUICK EDIT: She's ace, just realised I didn't mention that)
My 5 siblings are all happy and healthy, with the eldest a happy father now.

And me? I'm a stronger person now. I'm now the person that friends go to when they need someone to talk to. I'm a person I know my Mum would be proud of.

Do I miss her? Sometimes, when I think about her. It's hard to miss someone when you know most of the memories you hold of her aren't yours. Mostly stories I've heard since.

But I know that I'm living the right life for me, and I know she'd be proud of me. (Well, hope so)

Sorry if it's a bit heavy for the first day, but this is the first time I've ever gone into this much detail about it.

Not really asking someone out, but a chat up line nonetheless...
But I think it fits.

Back when I was in high school, me and my best mate (David) were often referred to as the same person, because you'd usually find one of us taking the piss out of the other. All was well.

We had a decent sized group of friends, about evenly split between lads and girls. Between the two of us, we ended up either snogging/going out with all of the girls bar 2. One was a really nice girl (Becca), and had been with her fella for a couple of years at this point, so there was no chance. Angelic in behaviour, but with a sense of humour so dark, it would have made Chris Morris shit himself. The other was just a munter. Great laugh, but ugly as sin.

This story concerns the first girl. One monday we came in, to find her obviously quite upset. Turns out her fella had dumped her out of the blue (he was a bit of a tosser), and she'd spent the weekend feeling sorry for herself. Having decided against my original plan to cheer her up*, me and my best mate came up with something which is still one of my favourite lines.

At lunchtime, one of the knobheads had made a comment about her panda eyes, and she'd got even more upset. She'd eventually calmed down, and just quickly redone her makeup, showing how pretty she really was. We see her stood with her mates, walk over, and begin:

David: Wow Becca, you look half decent again! (we were cheeky little sods, but we were just charming enough to pull it off)Me: DefinitelyBecca: Aww, thanks guys.M: I do have to ask something though...Did it hurt?B: Did what hurt?D: When you fell from heaven...B & Mates: AwwwwMe:...And landed on your face.

Her face went from happy, to confusion, to shock, then to complete and utter amusement. She almost shat herself laughing, while her mates (who were all innocent and boring) looked at us as if we were the biggest pair of twats ever.

She later admitted that it was just what she needed that day, and I'm still glad we were able to brighten it!

Hmm...
I've been trying to think of an answer to this weeks question, when all of a sudden it clicked into place. I'm known to quite a lot of people by a stupid bet I made.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was January 2005, and a younger Agnostic was at his girlfriend's at the time. Her Mum was out for the night, but had left a considerable amount of alcohol for us, so the gf had invited her friend over.

As the night went on, conversation started to get dirtier and dirtier, with my gf telling her friend all the things I did that got her off (well, all 3 of them). The friend is starting to look more and more interested, and starts giving me the eye. I notice this clearly. Unfortunately, so does the gf, and she does not look impressed.

At this point the conversation changes, as I was mildly afraid of getting my head ripped off for even looking at another girl. Conversation then slips to football, and how Liverpool would of course beat United the next day, I'm so confident I'd bet on it. I told them to think of the bet, while I disappeared to drain my rather full bladder.

I come back downstairs and they're rather enjoying the taste of each others tonsils (God bless what alcohol does to 16 year old girls!), and I'm quite happy for them to carry on. They then turn to me, and announce they've thought of a bet. If I lose, they get to do whatever they like to me (they made it rather ambiguous what it'd be). I then said if I won, I'd get to do what I like to them (and yes, it would include many many filthy things).

Not long after, the gf's Mum came home, and we had to cease all activity.

The next day rolls around, and we're out all day, so I've no idea what the score is. It gets to the end of the day, and I get back, flick on teletext, and see the score.

Liverpool 0-1 Manchester United.

Shit.

The missus gets a somewhat mischievous look on her face, and tells me it's time for my punishment. I follow her upstairs, somewhat hopeful.

I shouldn't have been.

If you want to know what my forfeit was, the picture is in replies...
(Fri 8th May 2009, 14:06, More)